


Joy and Hope

by Lidsworth



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6293488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As winter dawns upon Laketown, Bard and his village find themselves facing starvation.  With the Master hogging all of the food for himself, and the town’s economy at an all-time low, Bard ventures into the ominous Mirkwood with a knife and a quest. </p><p>For it is said that the hair of an elf is worth more than the purest of gold. And all Bard has to do is find an elf. Of course, things are easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joy and Hope

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my first barduil story and only my second for Lotr/The Hobbit so have mercy! Hope you enjoy it, It’s taken me over a week to complete—only because my train was delayed. Forgive me for any errors  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own LotR/The Hobbit.

Bard was desperate and hungry (well to put it more accurately, the entire village was hungry, Bard was just desperate. He could not just let the people he loved starve to death in the cold).

Such was combination that usually produced the most awful catastrophes in one’s youth, which the young boy of only sixteen could shamefully confess to, as he found himself plowing his worn out, raccoon skin boots through the leafy terrain of the Mirkwood forest.

The boy’s current situation saw him in a particularly impossible dilemma, where his only two options where either a) die of starvation during the harsh winters of Laketown, or b) attempt to steal a lock of hair from an unwilling elf in Mirkwood, that was said to be worth more than the purest of gold, or die trying.

One option was a sure death by cold starvation, while the other option held a 98.9% change of death, and given the choice, he would chose death by the latter.  Myth told of the elves fatalness, as they were known for their outrageous combat skills and impressive kill counts. Bard supposed that they would have no problem cleaving the head of off a thief.

And a quick death beat the disappointment that he would have to face from his friends if he returned to Laketown empty handed, and then the slow and painful death by frost and starvation.

Though he would love to avoid the latter if possible.  When word got out of his journey, his entire village held their hope in him, so it was about time he started holding some in himself.

So with his bow strapped to his back, a knife secured firmly at his side, and a burden as heavy as a King making impossible choices for his suffering kingdom, Bard continued his navigation through the woods.

                                                                                                OooooO

Evening had befallen the woods, and Bard had yet to see an elf of any kind. In fact, he wasn’t even entirely sure that elves existed.  His only proof had been the old wives tale passed on from his mother to him, and apparently everyone else’s mother to them, because once again, he reminded himself,  that was how this damn “adventure” had been given to him.

As Bard pondered on the inconstancies of oral tradition, his faith in his entire journey waivered considerably.

For all he knew, the damn tale could have originated from something entirely unrelated to elves.

But noises in the woods gave him hope. Though he saw nothing, he had thought that he had heard them. Laughter that seemed to mingle with the whispering trees, the sound of footsteps in the distance, which to untrained ears could have easily been mistaken for that of a deer. There had even been an occasionally splash in the tricking stream that wrapped around the entire woods.

There had even been a rustle of the branches above him, but other than those small stings, Bard had seen nothing exactly tangible, let alone felt anything—like golden hair, for example.

When the sky had begun its transition to a murky purple, Bard had considered turning back and calling it a quits. The forest would grow too dark to wade through, and he hadn’t thought of brining items to make camp with. And honestly, the idea of sleeping in such a dead forest rubbed him the entirely wrong way.

Turning on his heels, he began his trek towards the outskirts of the woods, quickly not to spend any longer amongst the darkening trees. Perhaps he’d return later on.

                                                                                Ooooooo

Bard wasn’t entirely surprised that he had gotten lost. To be frank, it had been his first time in these woods since his father had been alive, and he’d wandered deeper into the brush than he had hoped. Very seldom had he left the shores of Laketown, and his sense of greenery was faulty at best.

However, his acceptance of his despair did little to ease his mind.

He reminded himself, once again, that he had no tools or supplies that would last him more than a day, and shooting a running deer in the darkness wasn’t just impossible, it was just ill advised.

But there was certainly no harm in getting a drink of water from the ever pouring stream that seemed to run through the whole damn forest. He was thirsty, after all, and drinking an abundance of water would certainly alleviate his hunger.

So with a quickening in his step, Bard eagerly made his way towards the stream. For all the bad luck that had befallen him, it appeared that he had been blessed with a drink of water. Certainly, that had to be good omen.

Once at the edge of the stream (which upon closer inspection appeared to me more of a river), Bard dropped to his knees and inclined forward, diving his entire head into the water. Cool liquid clung to his face and damped his hair, and numbed the tips of his fingers as he gripped the edge of the shore.

He had not been at all aware of how thirsty he’d been until his head was completely emerged in the water. He drank up as if it were his only life source, yet to Bard’s dismay,  as he tipped his head further into the river, he found himself slipping as the mud and leaves under him slid forward, no longer able to take his weight on its soft surface.

 With his entire body submerged into the river—that seemed entirely deeper than it looked—Bard struggled to find a way out, but much like the blasted forest, the water had a way of trapping him. He flailed his arms around helplessly, trying to anchor himself in the midst of darkness.  

For a helpless moment, Bard firmly believed that he would die of downing in this bottomless river (and that would still be better than his premised end in the harsh winter of Laketown), though as he flailed his arms one last time, he grabbed onto something.

Something tall and sturdy, though slim and frail, almost like a tree with smooth bark. Grabbing onto it tightly, for dear life, Bard crawled upward, nearly screaming for joy when he broke to the surface. Though his joy was short lived.

Suddenly, he found himself able to stand in the water, as if it had been shallow to begin with, and his struggle for survival had never transpired. Secondly, he was certainly not grabbing onto a tree, far from it. In fact, it was a…girlish thing. Not quite girl because it certainly wasn’t a human, given the paleness of its skin, the elongated tips of its ears and its sheer height. Not only that, but it bore a face absent of flaws, a face that had been sculpted by the gods themselves.

It was perfect. Perfect and looking directly _at_ Bard, whose arms were still firmly wrapped around it. Oh, and it was naked, it’s body waist deep in the river, platinum hair cascading behind it. Judging by its folded tunics that lay folded up on the shore, perhaps the creature had taken a bath.

And given its naked body, Bard assumed that this was _not_ a girl-thing he was holding onto. Despite its feminine looks, the flat chest betrayed it completely, and Bard’s leg was brushing up against something particularly long underneath the water.

For a few seconds, Bard stared up at it and it stared down at Bard. Both said nothing, at least not until the wind picked up around them.

In a whirl, the most unearthly strands of hair flailed behind the creature, immediately catching Bards attention. The creature obviously noticed the change in the boy, as it lifted a curios brow as his eyes widened.

“You…you’re an elf…with hair…” Bard spoke in disbelief as he looked at the creature before him, “Beautiful hair…”  
Without thinking much, Bard grabbed the creature’s hair in a fistful. In all honestly, it had been the softest thing he’d ever felt. It was as if the stars had been woven into silk, and placed atop of the fair creatures head. This would fetch enough to feed him and his friends for a thousand winters to come. This would be enough to feed the village.

The creature seemed quite harmless, and Bard wondered if it were related to any of the crazy elves in Mirkwood. It certainly didn’t’ seem like it.

“You don’t know how glad I am to have found you,” spoke the boy as he moved behind the creature, “Your hair will fetch a good price in the market. Winters are tough in Laketown, and the master won’t let me or my friends, or anyone for that matter have any of his food. That’s why I’m here, apparently elf hair is worth more than gold,” spoke Bard, quite marveled at the creature, “which is why I’m here—I know what you’re thinking, why send a child in _these woods_ of all places? I hear there are some crazy elves living in these words,” he spoke honestly, “you don’t seem like them though. You certainly don’t look like a fighter, letting me cut your hair and all—“  
  
And at the mention of the hair cutting again, the creature whipped around to face Bard, hair once again behind him.

“Wait no! Turn back around,” Bard ran to the other side of the elf, “I need your hair to save my village,” exclaimed the boy, running after the elf who was now retreating to the riverbank.

“I’m not going to cut a lot! Just a bit, just an inch! My friend says I’m great at cutting hair,” Bard hopped towards the creature just as it neared the edge of the river, pulling him in immediately, “Please—“

“How dare you!” this hiss was full of so much venom, that Bard had felt nothing when the creature brought his flat palm across Bard’s cheek, efficiently throwing him into the water. The moment that he resurfaced, the creature was gone.

                                                                                                OOOOOOO

Bard had given up escaping the woods at night hours ago, and instead had turned his attention to finding the elf. After having touched the creature, he could not return to Laketown empty handed. The creature was bound to be somewhere, perhaps in the river? He had, after all, disturbed its bath. Perhaps it sought to clean itself elsewhere.

His tracking was delayed, however, by a sudden lurch in his bladder. After drinking so much water and nearly drowning in it, Bard found himself in need of relief. Finding the nearest tree towards him and the most innocent looking patch of grass with a golden flower, Bard fumbled with the buttons keeping his pants together, opened them and unsheathed his member, immediately aiming it towards the grass.  

He sighed as his bladder emptied onto the flower, unware that there was an observer standing right behind him.

“I’m certain that you aren’t urinating on my favorite flower,” spoke the voice from behind him, deep and intimidating, “Not if you want my help.”  
  
The events following were perhaps the most embarrassing in Bard’s entire life. But it wasn’t _his_ fault. The creature should not have snuck up on him like it had. He could have waited til he was done before he decided to interrupt his peeing. He could have stood further away, but no, he had to stand directly behind Bard.

At the sound of such a voice that came from seemingly nowhere Bard whipped his body around, privates and all. The creature, the same one that had slapped him from before, looked at him with a curious brow, that slowly morphed into horror as soon as he realized what exactly Bard was doing to him.

And it didn’t help that Bard’s bladder wasn’t even half way emptied.

                                                                                                OOOOOOO

Bard kicked his feet in the water as the creature once again stood in the middle of the steam, bathing himself. His soiled clothing had disappeared, only to be replaced with a fresh new pair after he had spoken a command in another language.

The clothing seemed to magically materialize themselves on the shore, and Bard wasn’t surprised. This elf was clearly capable of delving into magic.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve apologized already, boy,” replied the creature, “And was it not you that suggested we forget about the entire ordeal.”

Bard nodded furiously, “Yes…uh…that would be great.”  
  
There was again silence, in which the creature continued to bathe. Bard looked once again that the platinum hair. With his excitement gone, he could now assess the situation.

It wasn’t exactly gold, though it wasn’t exactly human either. While not gold, it could certainly fetch a heavy price.

Though part of Bard felt he had no right to ask the creature for his hair, not when he peed on him.  Yes, the creature told Bard to forget about it—perhaps for their own sakes, but still…Bard felt awful. The creatures clothing had been so intricate, and Bard had peed on them.

He would never give him his hair.

He continued to look at the creature with sad, eyes.

The creature could obviously sense that he was starting, as he groaned in agitation and said, “Out with it.”

“Are you certain you won’t strike me again?” responded Bard quickly, reprimanding himself for his sudden lash in anger.

“You touched my hair without asking, and then dragged me into the water when I tried to run,” spoke the creature quite angrily, “You deserved to be slapped.”

Any retort that Bard had fell off the tip of his tongue, and instead, he found himself uttering another apology.

“Oh stop it,” replied the creature with laughter in his voice, “You are but a child. You are prone to such disrespect, and I will not hold it against you…even you’re most….disgraceful acts…You have a pure soul and I will not ignore that, venturing into these woods with “crazy elves” to find food for your friends. You are quite courageous.”

Bard grinned, “But they are crazy, are they not? Surely, you must not be one of them!”  
  
Not it was the creatures turn to smile, “Tell me, young one, what differentiates me from these “crazy” elves?”  


Bard tilted his head and pursed his lips, “Hm...well first and foremost, you don’t look like a fighter. You’re slim and pale,” Bard signaled to his figure, “And I hear these elves are fighters. You also look—and don’t take this as offensive—quite dainty, too frail to fight.”

The elf tilted his head in amazement, “Ah, young one, _all_ elves are frail in appearance,” spoke the creature, “but do not let outward appearances fool you.  For you are a mere boy, but have ventured on a man’s request.”

Bard shrugged, and smiled sheepishly, “I suppose you’re right,” now slightly more confident, he looked at the elf, “—and speaking of my quest, elf, would you be as kind as to grant me a lock of your hair! Just one, and I’ll leave your woods forever!”

“Who says I want you to leave,” spoke the elf with joy in his voice as he walked towards the boy , “You are good company, better than any I have had for thousands of years.”

 _“Thousands,”_ Bard tried the words on his tongue, “You certainly don’t look a thousand.  More like twenty. But I suppose your kind ages differently than mine.”

The creature laughed, “Yes that is correct. I am certainly older than twenty in the years of Man, and you are certainly the greatest company I have had the pleasure of encountering in a very long time, and for that you _must_ receive your golden hair.”

“Great? Even after everything I’ve done? Like...relieving myself on you…”

At that, the elf threw his head back and laugh, nearly startling his young companion. “I suppose that is what has made you such great company. No one has been so strange…so casual with me, not since the death of my wife,” the elf’s demeanor changed, “I hope, young one, that you will be spared the pain of loss such as I have experienced. You are such an innocent child despite what you have been through, and joy shines bright within you. You certainly bring happiness to this realm.”

Bard was unsure of how to respond to that, though somewhere in his jumbled words he threw in some sympathy and gratitude.

“The hair you seek must be golden, correct?” Spoke the elf, as he pulled up his own wet hair from behind him. Bard nodded furiously.

“Then it appears that I am of little use to you, as my hair is platinum—stop with the sad face, I have a solution for your problems- _Come, Legolas.”_

He spoke again in that otherworldly, whimsical language, and Bard looked around to see what magical occurrence would take place next.

And he wasn’t disappointed. From a rusting in the woods came a figure clad in green and golden hair. It shared the same pale skin as the one who stood in the water. From behind it protruded a bow and arrow, and he flinched at the sight of Bard, his hand instinctively reaching towards the weapon.

 _“Stop Legolas…”_ They went off in their own language, apparently caught up in some disagreement. More than once, the one called “Legolas” pointed an accusing finger at Bard, looking in between he and the other creature in disbelief.

By the way they argued with each other, despite their similar looks in ages, they reminded Bard of a father and a son. Parents were experts at making their children do things they felt completely uncomfortable doing, and this is what this exchange seemed like.

After another complaint and a sharp silence, the green clad elf angrily tore his knife from its holder and sliced off the braid on the back of his head. With anger clear as day, he marched towards Bard with an absolute fury. Bard made to take a step back, but found he was unable to, as something invisible to him seemed to prevent him from doing so.

He wondered if it were the creature in the water, or the angry one stalking towards him.

With a strength far too forceful for the dainty creature in front of him, the hair was shoved into his chest, and _that_ nearly caused him to stumble backwards.

“Do not waste my hair, _human_ ” hissed the creature, then turned towards the one in the water, “Am I dismissed, _Ada_?”  
A simple came from the creature bard came to know as Ada. The permission saw the green elf gone.

Bard looked down at the hair with a smile, it shone in his hands like gold, and felt lighter than the air itself. It glimmered as if it had been woven by the sun.

This would certainly fetch he and his friends a great price. Perhaps he would even have enough to support the other villagers for years to come.  With a smile, the boy placed the hair into his satchel.

“Thank you,” Bard bowed his head respectively, “This will certainly fetch me enough food for me _and_ my friends.”

The creature returned the gesture with a hand on his chest, and an inclined his head.

“You’re very welcome, Bard,” spoke the elf.

At the mention of his name, Bard raised his head in disbelief, “How do you know who I am?”  
  
“I can see your soul, you are meant for great things,” spoke the creature honestly, “You come from a righteous line of men.”

If a righteous line meant a disgraced line of men, then the elf had certainly gotten that right. Though he hadn’t felt the need to correct him. He was an elf, he knew more than Bard could possible know. Perhaps he was seeing into Bard’s future. Though he didn’t like to dwell on such things.

“Ada? That’s your name?”  Bard walked back to the edge of the shore, “If I leave here, will I ever see you again? You’re a very nice elf, not that I’ve met any other elves besides you and that other one, and he wasn’t very nice.”

The elf smiled sadly, “I fear that our paths will cross again, though by then, fire will be upon us all.”

He looked at Bard knowingly, as if the fear of fire at had been all too real for him. The elf was an old one, so Bard assumed that he had his fair share of dragons.

“Go now, Bard,” spoke Ada, “Live your life in innocence like you do so well, never lose your courage and never forget to bring with you hope. For when we meet again, you will need it most.”

The way in which he spoke sent a shiver down Bard’s spine, and keeping his “joy” and “hope” within him seemed rather a hard thing to do when the elf was foreseeing such grim atrocities.

Before he could ask for clarification, there was a slide of the mud below him, and he was once again tossed into the river.

                                                                                                OOOOOOO

When Bard returned to the surface, he found himself at the shored of Laketown, Mirkwood miles away in the foggy mist. As he swam out of the freezing water and climbed onto the muddy shore, he doubted that he entire thing ever occurred. It seemed so whimsical and so make believe, that he wondered whether the events had transpired.

Though the golden hair within his satchel told him otherwise.

                                                                                                OOOOOOO 

He should not have been surprised when the Master called his findings horsehair, and threw the golden strands at his feet. Out of pure respect Bard had dropped to his knees and picked the gold up, eager not to forget the experience.

“Elf hair, bah,” blabbered the Mater, “And why on earth would an elf from Mirkwood give _you_ of all people their hair.”

“I said he didn’t, not willingly. Ada made him- “

“Lies Master, he’s already tripping on his story!”

“Shut up Alfrid before I make you!”

The sickly looking teen screamed and darted behind the Master’s throne like chair, “He’s prone to violence Master! How can you believe a thing he says!”

Bard fought the urge to roll his eyes at the two bimbos who ruled his village. If he needed them to work with him, he needed to be as respectful as possible.

“Master, please.”

The Master made an annoyed noise, “Take that horse hair back to the poor horse that you stole it from!”

                                                                                                OOOOO

The entire village had been made aware of Bard’s failure. Though they all congratulated him for his efforts. Bard however, did not feel deserving of their praises. He had practically come back empty handed, with a lock of hair that was starting to appear very similar to horse hair.

For all his efforts, he and his friends would still starve. His village would starve. This would be their last winter together. Or so Bard thought.

At the sudden announcement of a serious ailment that had befallen both Alfrid and the Master the next morning, followed by an assortment of fish and vegetation washed up on the docs, Bard thought that perhaps the hair was magical.

He awoke to such a joyous cry as villagers ran to the docks and scooped up fish and vegetation in such large quantities. Every so often, someone slapped Bard’s shoulder, thanking him for his work in the forest.

“Bard you did it! You must have pleased the elves, because we woke up this morning to all this food!” His friends circled him, clamping him on the shoulder.

“Plus, Master and Aflrid are so sick that people have been able to sneak the even better stuff!”

The village rejoiced that night. They sang and danced despite the chill, praised the elves and their gods for keeping them close.

The docs were ablaze with joy and hope, and that night not one soul neglected the chance to thank Bard for his deeds (save for the Master and Alfrid).

And all the while, Bard looked on the lake, through the mist and into the forest. With the golden hair now a bracelet upon his wrist (which would later be given the Sigrid) reminding him that his visit had been real, Bard inclined his head in gratitude towards the great forest.

Moments later, he was pulled by his friends into the infectious festivities.

**Author's Note:**

> !! So yeah. The part where Bard grabs onto Thranduil in the water is based off of a true experience, in fact the entire falling into the water scene was.  
>  Okay I am not a boy, so the pee part may have been strange. I PEE SITTING DOWN, so my experience in that department is very little. I hope you enjoy it. I may write a sequel, but it will be very far from now!! It took me a week to get this done, and only because I was on a delayed bus. This is my first barduil fic, so I hope you enjoy this, have a wonderful week and God bless!!


End file.
